


Four Ways Harry Potter Never Rescued George Weasley (And One Way George Returned the Favor)

by proleptic_fancy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-20
Updated: 2007-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proleptic_fancy/pseuds/proleptic_fancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ah, last ditch fic before the next book comes out. Yeah, this will be officially invalidated in, like, two hours. Oh well. This pairing kind of bit me in the ass when I was rereading the books and wouldn't let me sleep until I started writing this down. Also, part four kind of ran away with me, so it's much longer than the others.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Four Ways Harry Potter Never Rescued George Weasley (And One Way George Returned the Favor)

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, last ditch fic before the next book comes out. Yeah, this will be officially invalidated in, like, two hours. Oh well. This pairing kind of bit me in the ass when I was rereading the books and wouldn't let me sleep until I started writing this down. Also, part four kind of ran away with me, so it's much longer than the others.

1\. Second Year - In All Honesty, He Probably Deserved Whatever Was Coming to Him

Harry had only been at the Burrow for three days, and already he felt more at home than he ever had with the Dursleys. Mrs. Weasley seemed determined to more than make up for the time his aunt and uncle had spent starving him, and he was once again full-to-bursting as he lay back on his bed in Ron's room, still trying to take in everything that had happened since the Ford Anglia turned up outside his bedroom window.

A crash and a bellow from downstairs made Harry sit up with a start. He was nearly used to the occasional explosions from the twins' room, but this seemed different. He hopped off of the bed and crossed the room to peer out of the crack in the door, and was nearly knocked over by someone streaking into the room, slamming the door firmly behind them. It was George, and he looked extremely disheveled.

"Harry! You've gotta help me! Percy's gonna–" the color drained from his face. "He's coming, quick!"

Harry could indeed hear someone coming up the stairs. Even the sound of their footsteps seemed to emanate rage.

"I've never seen him this mad, not even when we–"

Harry shushed him. "Get under the bed, I'll cover for you."

George shot him a look of gratitude before diving under Harry's bed, hidden from view by the oversized cover. Harry perched himself on the end and pretended to flip through one of Ron's old Quidditch magazines.

The door flew open with a bang, revealing a furious Percy, who was being ravaged by a piece of parchment with what appeared to be rows of little teeth. He swatted at it whenever it got too close.

"Something you need?" Harry asked lightly, trying not to laugh at Percy's predicament.

"Why yes," Percy said through clenched teeth, "you wouldn't have happened to see my miscreant of a brother who thought bewitching my Advanced Transfiguration paper to attack me would be funny, have you?"

"Er, actually," Harry began, ignoring the panicked thump from underneath him, "I saw him running out towards the broom shed, laughing like mad," he gestured out the window for emphasis.

Percy stared at him for a few agonizing moments before curtly snapping, "Thank you," turning on his heel, and striding purposefully out of the room, paper nipping at his ankles.

George pulled himself out from under the bed and dusted himself off, laughing.

"How did you...?" Harry asked.

"Oh, that? Clever little trick Fred and me came up with. It doesn't do anything until he writes five thousand words, then, SNAP!" he said, lunging playfully at Harry, who jumped. "Serves the git right for doing homework over the holidays," he added.

Harry laughed.

"Seriously though, thanks, mate," George said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. "I thought I'd be dead for sure this time."

He gave Harry's shoulder a friendly little squeeze and slipped out the door, probably off to cook up a new madcap scheme with Fred, now that Percy had been sent on a wild goose chase. Harry smiled and lay back on the bed, returning to the magazine. He liked it here.

 

__

ii. Fifth Year - In a Different Situation, This Could Have Got Downright Pornographic

Harry supposed that wandering the corridors alone during the worst of Umbridge's regime probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he needed somewhere to think, somewhere away from distractions, and the empty, quiet hallways around him had proved perfect. At least, they used to. Harry's thoughts were rudely interrupted by a shout of, "Split up!" from not far away, and before Harry could react, an orange-and-black blur flew into him, knocking them both to the ground.

"Sorry about that, Harry," George Weasley said with a grin, pulling a stunned Harry to his feet. "Try to watch where you're brooding next time."

Harry was about to reply when Filch's voice rang out. "I've caught myself a Weasley!" he said, hobbling into view. "And his little accomplice, Potter," he crowed upon spotting Harry. "You two will be perfect for breaking in my new manacles. Oh, the Headmistress will be so pleased!"

Harry's eyes flicked over to George, who gave him a barely perceptible wink, and together they set off running down through the empty corridor, Filch stumping along behind them and cracking his whip with glee. They rounded a corner, gasping, and looked around frantically. It was a dead end.

"Quick, in here!" Harry hissed, pulling George into one of the unused classrooms lining the dark, narrow hallway.

By wandlight, they searched for somewhere to hide as Filch's footsteps grew steadily closer. There was a large cupboard in the far corner of the room, and save for the thick layer of dust and a few spiders, it was empty. It was a very tight fit, but both of them managed to climb in and shut the door behind them. Harry locked it with a whispered incantation.

"Come out, come out," Filch called from the hallway with a wheezy cackle. "You can't hide from me forever."

Harry could feel George tensing next to him and laid a placating hand somewhere in the vicinity of the other boy's shoulder.

George ignored him, muttering, "Won't have to," and shifting his weight slightly to draw his wand. He must've noticed Harry's sharp intake of breath, because he gave Harry's hand a reassuring squeeze and whispered, "Relax, Harry. Even I'm not stupid enough to attack Filch, even if the miserable old–"

He stopped suddenly at the sound of the classroom door creaking open.

Filch gave another wheezy laugh from just outside the classroom. A spider crawled across Harry's arm, giving him an idea. It was almost dangerously bold, but it just might give them the chance they needed to escape. By now his eyes had begun to adjust to the near-total darkness, and he could just make out the faint outline of George, still holding his wand at the ready.

He leaned in, Filch's footsteps echoing in the abandoned room around them, and breathed, "Trust me," in George's ear. Then, just as the light of Filch's lantern became level with the cupboard's keyhole, he began to pound against the sides as hard as he could. Harry thought he caught a glimpse of George's panic-stricken face just before Filch jumped back, dropping the lantern and plunging them into darkness once again.

Harry redoubled his efforts, making the cupboard wobble slightly. Filch swore loudly, and Harry clearly heard something about boggarts before the caretaker stomped away, long whip dragging behind him.

Harry slowed, then stopped once he could no longer hear Filch skulking around the empty corridor. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Harry," George said in a low voice. "That was absolutely brilliant! Utterly mad, of course, thought we'd get the whip for sure, but brilliant!" He seized Harry by the shoulders and kissed him on the forehead with a theatrically loud smack, then pulled away, still grinning like a loon. "How did you come up with it?"

"I don't know," Harry replied, his voice sounding a bit higher than normal. He cleared his throat. "It just sort of came to me."

"Lucky for us it did," George said. "I haven't got anything against horsewhips in principle, but the thought of Filch enjoying it that much?" he trailed off with a shudder, hands still on Harry's shoulders.

Harry's eyebrows shot up, but all he said was, "We should get out of here before Filch brings Umbridge right down on our heads."

"Right," George replied, nudging the door open with his foot so Harry could climb out, before following suit.

They crept to the open classroom door, and once completely sure that the coast was clear, they sprinted out, not looking back until they had reached the safety of the Gryffindor commons. Harry slammed the portrait behind him, leaning heavily against the back of it, while George sagged into the nearest armchair. Both of them were panting hard.

"Harry!" Hermione called out, rushing over to them. "Where were you? You're absolutely filthy! And you, George! What on earth were you two doing?"

"Barely escaping with our hides intact, no thanks to me," George said modestly.

Harry felt himself flush slightly. "It was nothing, really."

"Hardly," Ron said, coming down the dormitory stairs, his expression a mix of amusement and relief. "We were listening for the whips."

"And the screams," Fred added from behind Ron, not quite succeeding at looking like he hadn't been worrying too.

Overall, Harry and George ended up telling their story at least ten times, getting more and more dramatic with each retelling, though neither mentioned the immediate aftermath. As soon as George finished telling a group of wide-eyed second years about how they had been chased up to the Tower by Umbridge herself, dodging hexes left and right, Harry excused himself and nearly fell into bed. He dreamt of a different corridor that night, but was no less frustrated when Ron woke him up just short of reaching his objective.

"Sorry, mate," Ron mumbled, face scarlet, when Harry shot him a dirty look. "Thought you were having another one of those nightmares."

Harry sighed. "Forget about it," he said, rolling over and falling back asleep almost instantly. He did not dream again, and had forgotten the whole exchange by morning.

Three days later, when the Weasley twins went out in a blaze of glory, disappearing into the sunset like in those old, Muggle cowboy movies, Harry cheered with the rest, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel as if from then on, Hogwarts would be just that much less bright. He shivered and joined Ron and Hermione upstairs. There was work to be done.

 

__

iii - Sixth Year - At Least, Until That Damn SUV Shows Up

In hindsight, they all should have expected the attack, but he supposed everyone let their guard down sometimes. After all, it was supposed to be a perfect day, at least for two of them. Isn't that what weddings were all about? And it was perfect, for a while. The sun was shining, the air was cool, Fleur looked, well, radiant or something, and ten minutes in, the whole thing had gone to Hell.

There was at least five of them, probably not enough to take down all of the assembled Order members and curse-breakers present, but enough to inflict some serious damage. Mrs. Weasley's yells of, "Protect the children," were nearly drowned out by the sound of his own heart pounding in his throat. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not today. He was vaguely aware of being pushed back as others leapt into the fray. That's when he saw it.

A sixth Death Eater, separate from the rest, had cornered George against the back wall of the Burrow.

"Kneel before your betters, Blood Traitor," he said. His voice was familiar, but Harry couldn't place it.

Harry watched as George stood his ground, staring into the slits in the Death Eater's white mask and holding out his wand with a shaking hand.

"Filth!" the Death Eater roared, and Harry recognized him at once as the man called Avery. He seemed to regain his composure. "I can see no one taught you proper respect, boy, now kneel!"

George's eyes were furious, but he sank into a kneeling position as if pushed down by an invisible hand. Harry felt sick as he was forcibly reminded of the way he had bowed before Voldemort in the graveyard. He had to do something to stop this. Trying not to think of what might happen if he were seen, he crept around the side of Avery, taking advantage of the lack of peripheral vision caused by the man's mask, and drew his wand.

Avery raised his wand, cruel laughter echoing in Harry's ears. "Avad–"

Expelliarmus, Harry cried out desperately in his mind. A jet of red light shot from the end of his wand, sending the Death Eater's own wand spinning out of his hand. It landed forty feet away, obscured by the tall grass. Avery hissed with rage and spun towards Harry.

"You," he snarled, advancing, weaponless, towards Harry, his hands shaking with fury. "He's here!" he shouted suddenly. "The Potter boy's he–"

The Death Eater was cut off by another burst of red light hitting him squarely in the back. He toppled over, landing in an tangled heap of black robes. Behind him, George met Harry's eyes and lowered his wand. Harry went to him.

"You all right? Can you stand?" he asked quickly.

George glared at him, heaving himself unsteadily to his feet without the aid of the hand Harry offered. "Course I'm all right, you git," he spat, then looked straight past Harry, eyes wide.

Harry followed his gaze. They had silenced Avery too late, and the rest of them were swiftly approaching, still locked in battle with the Order. He was about to run to Lupin and Charlie's aid against two of the attackers when George grabbed his arm.

"Right, come on," he said brightly.

Harry blinked at him, uncomprehending, but before he could say anything, he felt an arm being wrapped around his waist and the unmistakable sensation of being squeezed into a metal box half his size.

It was raining.

"What did you do that for?" Harry shouted, feeling desperation rising in his chest. "We've got to–"

"No, we don't," George said, raising a hand almost patronizingly. "I might not be a full member of the Order, but Mum told me the same thing as everybody else. Our first priority is to keep you safe, and that's exactly what I did. It's bad enough you let yourself get isolated rescuing me like that. How stupid can you get? I'm not important! It's you they want!"

"Don't you start, too!" Harry shouted, clenching his fists. "I've heard that same exact speech twenty times today and you're all full of it! I'm no more important than any of you lot, and I can't do any of this by myself, so forgive me for trying to keep as many of my friends around as possible!"

He closed his eyes briefly, clearing his mind, and opened them again. George was staring at him. Harry noticed for the first time that his face was very pale and his eyes were glassy.

"No, you're right," George said finally. "It was stupid of me to get cornered like that in the first place."

They stood there for a moment in the empty alleyway, silent except for the sound of their own shallow breathing. Harry pulled George under a small awning before they both got completely soaked.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Where are we, anyway?" he asked, squinting around as he attempted to wipe off his rain-spattered glasses.

"Cardiff," George replied weakly, sagging against the rough brick wall.

"Cardiff?" Harry replied, disbelieving. "Couldn't you have taken us somewhere closer? Somewhere less draining?"

"Yeah," said George with a lopsided smile, "but who's going to look for us in Cardiff? And stop looking at me like that. I'm fine," he added sharply, but the effect was ruined by him swaying dangerously, grabbing Harry's shoulder for support.

Harry frowned. "You are not fine. You're bleeding, and you look like you're about to keel over."

George looked down at where Harry was pointing. There was a tear in his robes, through which both of them could clearly see the blood trickling from his wounded chest.

"Bastard broke right through my shield charm. Lucky I only caught the edge of whatever he was throwing at me," he said darkly.

Harry looked around quickly before pulling his wand out. "Episkey," he murmured, tapping George's side with the wand. "Should stop the bleeding at least, but you still ought to sit down or something."

George gave him a long-suffering look, but sank to the damp pavement, leaning heavily against the wall. Harry joined him.

"About earlier," George began, but Harry stopped him.

"You don't have to apologize. We're both alive. That's a start."

"But that's just it! Ron and Hermione, well, Hermione anyway, might gripe about it, but I fully approve of your saving-people thing."

"Thanks, I think," Harry said with a grin.

They laughed. It was nice to be able to laugh, to remember there was more to life than planning for the next attack.

George muttered something that sounded like, "Amongst other things," though Harry couldn't be sure, before leaning in, closing the already narrow gap between them. For one heart-pounding, breath-catching moment Harry was convinced George was going to kiss him, but instead the older boy's head just sank to Harry's shoulder.

"Er, George?" Harry asked, looking down in mild surprise, but the only response was deep, even breathing.

Harry smiled and wrapped his arm around George's shoulders, keeping watch for both of them, just in case. The rain began to clear.

 

__

iv. Seventh Year, or Thereabouts - Within Him, Without Him

Harry soon realized that the history books and occasional glimpses of an action film during his youth had lied. There was no such thing as a final battle, no dramatically scored clash between the forces of light and dark, no glorious deaths, and, to Harry's considerable disappointment, no desperate, before-we-die shagging. It was true, Voldemort had been defeated some time ago through a combination of perseverance, complex magic Harry still didn't fully understand, and pure luck, but even so, the war was far from over.

With Voldemort gone, the Death Eaters had lost their unifying principle, and that made them even more dangerous. They attacked indiscriminately, usually alone or in pairs, but sometimes entire packs of them. Some of the more unhinged had abandoned magic altogether and taken to using their fists, or occasionally, knives, as Ron had the scars to prove. Fanatics without a cause, they had nothing to gain, and worse, nothing to lose.

The hardest battle Harry ever fought was never meant to be a battle at all. It was a quiet morning, early in June. The Order had captured three Death Eaters the night before, and McGonagall had ordered its younger members to take the day off and enjoy themselves. More than happy to comply, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the twins spent the morning playing Quidditch in the orchard, while Hermione sat nearby, reading a book on experimental magic and occasionally dodging a poorly-aimed apple. Mrs. Weasley had just come out to fetch them for lunch when it happened.

They were walking back, chatting amicably and laughing at Ron's most recent spectacularly failed save, when George stopped suddenly, looking blank. The others took little notice until Fred went down, twitching. His screams echoed through the clearing, sending a drove of angrily squawking birds scattering from the nearby trees.

Harry recognized it immediately, but who could be using the Cruciatus Curse on them here, now? Harry's stomach twisted when he saw the answer. George stood, wand raised, ten feet behind them, his face a twisted parody of its usual genial amusement.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley chose this moment to look up from Fred, and dropped her wand with a choked sob at what she saw. She ran towards her other son, arms outstretched to try and stop him.

"Mrs. Weasley, no!" Harry called out, but it was too late.

"Stupify," George sounded almost bored as his mother crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Fred stopped moving, the curse lifted. Hermione and Ginny bent over him, trying to wake him up, but to no avail. Ginny was crying as she listened to his shallow breathing.

George rounded on Ron, who seemed to be frozen to the spot. He raised his wand, the cruel grin replaced with an expression of pure hatred.

"You were there," he said in a voice not entirely his own. "You saw the Dark Lord die, and now they will watch you die. It's only fair," he sniffed. "Avada–"

Harry did something phenomenally stupid.

"No!" he yelled, diving at George and yanking his wand arm downward.

The spell fizzled and died. George snarled and grabbed Harry, pressing his wand to Harry's throat.

"You," George said, drawing out the word with contempt. His face was contorted in a mask of fury, but then softened slightly, intrigued. "This one has so many interesting things in his mind about you. If he kills you, would it break him, I wonder."

"Right," Harry said dismissively, trying very hard not to think about the smooth wood digging into his throat. "Hermione, Ginny, take Fred and try to find whoever's doing this."

They nodded, helping Fred shakily to his feet, and together they disappeared into a copse of trees.

"No," George growled, jabbing Harry with the wand, but making no move to do anything worse.

"Ron, get to headquarters and bring back anyone you can. We need backup."

The loud crack from behind him confirmed that Ron was already on his way.

"It's just you and me now," Harry said softly, almost soothingly. "I know you can fight this."

There was a flicker of something in George's eyes, but it was gone in an instant. George tightened his grip.

Harry frowned, wondering if there was a way to shock his friend into fighting back. Short of a swift kick to the goolies, he couldn't think of anything, unless, if what the Death Eater had said was true, well, then he had no other choice, really. Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes and pressed his lips to George's. At first there was nothing. It was like kissing a statue, not that Harry would know anything about that.

Then, as if the strings holding him were cut, George's grip slackened and he stumbled into Harry's arms, letting his wand slide from his hand and land with a muffled thump in the grass below. Harry pulled away cautiously, eying George with suspicion. Before either of them could say anything, Mrs. Weasley began to stir. George stared at her, his eyes widening in horrified comprehension and all of the color draining from his face.

"It's all right, she's fine," Harry began, but George ignored him, shoving Harry away and running back towards the house.

Harry bent to retrieve George's wand, and was about to follow him when several things happened. First, Ron came back with Lupin and Kingsley, who sprinted off into the woods as soon as they appeared. Then, Harry was forced to explain what had happened with George to Mrs. Weasley, although he left out both the attack on Ron, due to Ron's frantic gesturing, and his own hand in helping George shake the curse. Finally, a series of bloodthirsty shrieks began emanating from the nearby woods, making all three of them jump, and Lupin and Kingsley dragged out a bound and struggling Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry's eyes narrowed. She let out a mad, croaking giggle when she saw him.

"You thought you killed my Master, but he'll be back someday for his most faithful servant! And won't he be so pleased when I take my revenge?" she howled.

"What, with this?" Fred asked, holding her wand up in front of her before snapping it across his knee.

"No!" she hissed, lunging at him, but Kingsley held her back.

"Fred, you probably should have left that to the Ministry," Lupin admonished.

"Sod the Ministry!" Ginny yelled angrily, before yanking Lupin down to her level and telling him something in a fierce whisper, her eyes burning.

Lupin's expression grew stonier. He turned to Fred and said, "Right, you'd better give it another one, just in case."

Fred complied without smiling.

"Kingsley, if you will," Lupin said, looking older now than ever.

The tall Auror nodded and Disapparated, Bellatrix in tow.

"Unless you need me here, I'd best get back to headquarters," Lupin said with a sigh.

"We'll take care of things," Mrs. Weasley said kindly. "Thank you, Remus."

He raised a hand in farewell before he, too, was gone.

They walked to the house in uneasy silence. It was empty when they got there, but the door to Percy's old room was bolted shut, and none of them tried to open it. Mr. Weasley arrived a few minutes later, presumably informed by Kingsley, but could hardly get more than a bare-bones retelling of the event out of the somber group. Compounding the awkwardness further, Percy showed up that night, looking pale and drawn, but offered no words of either reassurance or condemnation. No one challenged his presence.

Harry and Hermione took the opportunity to disappear upstairs, leaving the family alone to hopefully start working things out. Hermione went straight to Ginny's room, pausing only to wish Harry good night, but Harry stopped on the second story landing, listening. He heard nothing. Cautiously, he knocked on the bolted door.

No response.

Frowning, Harry pointed his wand at the doorknob and whispered, "Alohamora."

The door swung open with a soft click, and Harry stepped inside, shutting it gently behind him. George was sitting on Percy's bed, facing the wall. He gave no indication of noticing Harry's presence.

"Er, it's me," Harry said, beginning to wonder if he should have just went to bed.

"I know," George replied, turning to face him. His eyes were rimmed with red. "Any of them would have burst in here saying they forgive me and waiting for things to be all right again." He paused. "I don't think I want them to forgive me. Not yet."

Harry understood completely, but he didn't want George to think he was patronizing him by saying so. Instead he settled on, "Percy says you can have his room for as long as you need."

George snorted. "Typical Percy. It would take one of us going on a homicidal rampage to bring him home."

"He's worried about you," Harry said, crossing over to join George on the edge of the bed. "We all are. "

"Sure they're not just worried I'll murder them in their beds?" George snapped.

"Don't be stupid," Harry said, frustration mounting. "That wasn't you attacking people, and they all know it!"

"But that's the problem! It was me! My wand, my words, and if you hadn't grabbed me, Ron's blood on my hands," he said, clenching his fists. "I wanted to do it. All of it."

"Because Bellatrix Lestrange needed you to want it. That's all," Harry said firmly. "It could have been Ron, me, your mum, any of us."

"But it wasn't any of you, was it?" George said, dropping his head into his hands. "How am I supposed to go back to work? How the hell am I going to be able to look Fred in the eye after this?"

"You don't have to, not yet, but it will get easier. I promise," Harry said.

"Well that certainly makes me feel loads better," George said, voice edged with sarcasm.

Harry sighed. "It's true. You're not the only person in this house who's been under a dark influence. Your sister set a basilisk on people, and I was too stupid to talk to her about it after your dad, and that snake–"

"But that wasn't you! You're the one who saved his life!"

"That's not how it felt at the time," Harry said darkly. "All I'm trying to say is, don't let this tear you apart. That's exactly what Bellatrix would have wanted."

George frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Just that, we destroyed the closest thing she had to a family, twisted as it was, so she wanted to do the same to you lot. People will do some pretty nasty things to get their revenge," Harry could certainly think of a few he'd like to do to Bellatrix, but he kept them to himself.

George said nothing, then, softly, "If you wouldn't have stopped me..."

"Look at me," Harry said. "That doesn't matter. What does matter is that everyone is safe, and we will all get through this."

George nodded, but didn't look convinced.

"If you don't mind," he said with a weak smile, "I think I need a little more time to be unmanly before I can face them."

"All right," Harry replied, standing slowly and making his way to the door. "See you in the morning, then."

The door locked behind him.

George didn't come out the next day, although the food left outside his door disappeared regularly, or the next, despite the increasing frequency of people trying to talk to him. Harry even thought he saw Percy sliding a Ministry-issue pamphlet on the aftereffects of the Imperius Curse under the door while the others were eating lunch. On the third morning, George asked to see his parents. Mrs. Weasley immediately bustled the rest of them out of the house, where they sat for well over an hour. Finally, Hermione broke the silence.

"Harry, you've seen him. Is he holding up alright?" she asked in a low voice, not that it made any difference. All eyes turned to her.

"He's taking it pretty hard," Harry said, "but–"

Harry was interrupted by Mr. Weasley poking his head out of the back door. "Harry, Hermione, if you don't mind," he said.

"Of course not, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said, getting up.

He nodded in gratitude, moving aside to let the rest of his children enter.

"C'mon," Hermione said, her voice cautiously cheerful as she pulled Harry up to join her. "We're taking a walk." She glanced at the house. "A long walk, and you're going to tell me exactly what happened while we were in the woods. I know you're hiding something."

Harry waited until they were halfway to the village to tell her exactly how he had helped break Bellatrix's hold over their friend.

"Oh," she said, blinking, then finally, "Have you talked with him about it yet?"

"Of course I haven't. What's there to say?" he asked, a little louder than necessary.

"Well obviously you must have kissed him for a reason," Hermione said.

Harry boggled at her. "I just told you the reason!" he said, voice rising. "I did it to shock him into doing something."

"Yes," Hermione said slowly, in the manner of someone speaking to an exceptionally obtuse four-year-old, "but haven't you put any thought into why it worked so well? Why he didn't just kill you outright when you started giving orders?"

"That's obvious!" Harry replied, wondering why Hermione just didn't get it. "Bellatrix wanted to do it herself. You heard her going on about avenging Voldemort."

"Well, I suppose that's true," Hermione conceded in that irritatingly calm tone of voice, "but have you at all considered that there might be more to it?"

"Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to! What do you expect me to say?" he shouted.

Hermione did the unthinkable: she laughed. "For goodness' sake, Harry, he's in love with you," she said.

Harry blinked, then shook his head. "You've been reading too many of Ginny's romance novels. George isn't in love with me, he's a bloke."

Hermione ignored him, continuing, "And it can't be completely unrequited if the first thing you do to get his attention is snog him in the orchard instead of kicking him in the shins like anybody else would've."

"You're, you, er, well, it was complicated, all right?" Harry spluttered indignantly, feeling his firm grasp on the argument starting to slip. "I was following a hunch, that's all."

"A hunch that George would fight back for the love of a good man?" Hermione asked with a wry smile.

"Dammit, Hermione! Even if, and that's a very big if, George were somehow in love with me, which I doubt, that certainly doesn't mean I'm, er," Harry did his best to ignore the sneaking suspicion that it did.

"Don't be silly, of course you are," Ginny said brightly as she crested a nearby hill. "Mum's convinced George to come out of hiding long enough for a hot dinner, if you two want to come back. Of course, if you want to keep arguing, I could certainly use the entertainment."

Harry frowned, his annoyance deflated. "So you heard us, then?" he asked dully.

"Harry, half the village probably heard you the way you were carrying on," Ginny replied seriously. "In my opinion, you should probably snog him again. It would do you both a world of good."

Harry choked. Hermione pounded him good-naturedly on the back.

"Wait," Harry began slowly, "if you knew, shouldn't you be mad at me?"

Hermione looked extremely affronted, but Ginny just laughed. "Nah, I gave you up as a lost cause when you didn't sweep me off my feet and promise never to leave me again as soon as Voldemort was defeated. I was pretty mad at the time, though," she admitted with a grin.

"Well how was I supposed to know that was what you wanted? Do people even actually do that sort of thing?" Harry asked, incredulous. This was the first he'd heard of it.

"Ron did," Hermione said with a shrug.

"It was rather sweet," Ginny agreed.

"I'm sorry I, er, didn't, then," Harry attempted lamely.

Both girls laughed this time.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Ginny said. "Besides, if I had known you fancied my brother, it would have saved me a lot of trouble."

Harry started coughing again, much to the girls' amusement.

Their laughter died away when they reached the house. The others were already seated around the large table in painfully awkward silence as Mrs. Weasley levitated heaping dishes in front of them. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny sat down in the three empty seats on the end, unsure of what to say. Mrs. Weasley apologized for keeping Harry and Hermione out of the house for so long, but Hermione wouldn't hear any of it.

"I understand completely," she said lightly. "Besides, Harry and I had a very enlightening conversation."

"That's good," Mrs. Weasley said absently. "I'd hate for you to to think of us as ungracious hosts."

"Of course not," Harry said, prompted by Hermione kicking him under the table.

Mrs. Weasley smiled for the first time in days.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence. George, predictably, was the first to leave, but Harry quickly followed after another kick, this time from Ginny. He managed to corner George on the second story landing before he could bolt himself into Percy's room again.

"Er, George," Harry began, heart pounding. "Hermione sort of mentioned something earlier, and–"

"So I figured. Enlightening conversation, indeed," George said, leaving Harry thankful for the brief reprieve. "She's a nice enough girl, but she really needs to learn how to keep her nose out of other people's business."

"Right, so about the other day," Harry began, but was again cut off.

"No, I get it. You took advantage of what Bellatrix said about killing you. It worked. I appreciate that," he said flatly.

"So would've kicking you in the shins," Harry said, recalling Hermione's earlier point. After all, she had got him into this, so the least she could do was give him some decent ammunition.

"Yeah, probably. What's your point?" George asked.

Harry stared at him for a moment, wondering if kicking him in the shins now would stop him being so unbearably thick. Instead, he settled on kissing him again. It seemed to do the trick quite nicely.

Before any of them realized it, things slowly began to get back to normal.

It was a week before George could be in the same room with Ron for more than ten minutes at a time. Nobody knew how long it would have been if Ron hadn't finally stopped pretending that George wasn't avoiding him and called him out on it, yelling himself hoarse before making them both a cup of tea and refusing to let George leave until he was absolutely sure they were sorted. It took six hours.

A month later, George returned to work and the tiny flat above the shop. Not long after, the shadows finally began to leave Fred's eyes.

Six months after the events in the orchard, it was far too late to still be thought of as desperate, before-we-die shagging, but as George logically pointed out, everybody died eventually, so it still counted. Harry wasn't disappointed.

 

__

v. The Carefully Calculated Oblivion of Mothers

"George?" Harry asked nervously.

"Hmm?" came the drowsy reply from the head resting in his lap.

"You know I love your mum, right? I mean, she's always been so good to me, even before she knew who I was."

"But?" George asked knowingly, not bothering to hide his amusement at Harry's discomfort.

"But I think she wants me to marry your sister. Not that I have anything against your sister, of course. There was certainly a time when we were, er, considerably fond of each other, but she's not exactly..." he trailed off imploringly.

"As stunningly gorgeous and charming as I am?" George responded. "I understand completely." He dodged the gentle swat Harry aimed at his shoulder. "What I don't understand is why Ginny hasn't set her straight by now."

"Ginny seems to find the entire situation incredibly amusing," Harry said darkly. "Don't know why, seeing as your mum keeps locking her in rooms with me, and poor Neville's starting to get a complex."

"Wait a minute, you're not talking about Neville Longbottom?" George said, sitting up suddenly.

"Of course he is, you prat," said Ginny from behind them, causing both men to jump.

"You said he was only coming round to take a look at some of the weird things we've got growing in the garden!" George said, his tone accusatory.

"Yes, well, that too, but honestly, George, do you really think we spent all of that time out there, alone, talking about plants?" she asked, devious smile forming at  
the look on her brother's face.

"Don't let her fool you. I'm sure the weather came into it at some point," Harry stage-whispered, reaching up to close George's slack jaw.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and made her way to the stairs. Halfway up, she stopped and turned back to them. "By the way, mum will be back any minute now, so look manly, or whatever it is you two do when she's watching."

The words didn't quite sink in until they heard the door bang shut, and George quickly jumped to the opposite end of the sofa, doing his best to look like he hadn't been engaging in illicit cuddles just a few minutes before. It wasn't particularly convincing, but Mrs. Weasley was, as usual, oblivious.

"Fix your hair, George dear. You look ridiculous," she said, before pretending she had just noticed Harry. "Oh, hello, Harry. Have you seen Ginny around?" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I think she wanted a word in private."

George rolled his eyes theatrically from behind her. Harry tried not to laugh. "Er, yeah, she came in a few minutes ago."

"Couldn't stop talking about Neville," George added with a grin.

Mrs. Weasley's expression darkened momentarily, but she shook it off and bustled them into the kitchen. "Well, since you two aren't doing anything, you can help me cook. Bill and Fleur are bringing the girls over for lunch. You know, I had my doubts about her, but they're the happiest couple I've ever seen, except for Arthur and myself, of course," she added with a smile as she spelled the pot on the stove to stir itself.

"So when are you two perpetual bachelors planning on settling down?" she asked, a little too casually. "That pretty muggle girl in the village has had her sights on you for ages," she said, eyeing George with motherly concern. "You should at least talk to her."

George sighed. "I have talked to her, mum. She's about as clever as a goldfish and half as interesting."

Mrs. Weasley ignored him. "And Harry," she said, turning to him with a dangerously pleasant expression, "well, I expect you'd have no trouble getting married, but I do admit I'd like to keep you in the family. Like I was saying earlier, I think Ginny had something she wanted to discuss with you. Perhaps after lunch you could find somewhere private, talk things over..." she trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

Harry flushed slightly. This was getting out of hand. George seemed to agree, because he stopped chopping vegetables and gently put his hand on Mrs. Weasley's arm, making her look up from the bread she had been slicing.

"Mum, Harry isn't going to marry Ginny," he said.

Mrs. Weasley sniffed and pulled away, busying herself with pouring juice into a lumpy ceramic jug. "I'd say that's for Harry to decide for himself," she replied, rather coldly.

"But he's right," Harry said, prompted by a glare from George. "I'm not. I mean," he backtracked at the expression on Mrs. Weasley's face, "she's a wonderful person, one of my best friends, but she's seeing someone, and, er, so am I, actually, and we're happy like that," he finished lamely.

Mrs. Weasley said nothing, her expression carefully blank.

"What my ever-so-eloquent friend here is trying to say," George said gently, crossing over to Harry and taking his hand, "is that he won't be marrying darling Ginevra because for the past year and a half, he's been in a relationship with me."

Mrs. Weasley dropped the jug. It shattered, spilling juice all over the floor. Harry absently vanished it with a sweep of his wand before repairing the jug, which George set safely on the counter.

"Er, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked cautiously. "I know it's a bit of a shock, but–"

He was cut off by Mrs. Weasley enveloping both of them into a surprisingly powerful bear hug.

"I'm so happy for you! Why didn't you say anything about this sooner?" she demanded, only releasing them when they began gasping for air.

George frowned, rubbing his neck. "We didn't think you'd take it quite this well, not with the way you've been hounding Harry and Ginny lately," he said.

"Well, yes," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding rather embarrassed, "I really was hoping to keep Harry in the family, and Ginny had fancied him for so long, and I certainly never expected– oh, I'm just so pleased that everything worked out!" She beamed at them, then paused, her smile fading. "I suppose I've been a bit rude to Neville, haven't I? He really is a nice young man, and Ginny obviously cares for him. Maybe I'll have him over for dinner tomorrow night, try and set things right."

George opened his mouth to say something, but promptly shut it again when Harry stood on his foot.

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the clock. "Right, they'll be here soon. Try to make yourselves at least somewhat presentable," she said fondly.

They ducked out of the kitchen, and saw Ginny smirking down at them from the stairs, holding an extendable ear.

"Those things are a menace to society," George declared, glaring at her.

"You invented them," she countered smoothly.

"Well yeah, but he's the ultimate menace to society, or at least half of it, so it's only right. Hey!" Harry said, rubbing his arm where George had smacked him.

"Only half?" George said indignantly. "I must be losing my touch."

"I think I'd have noticed if that were the case. Although," he paused, looking thoughtful, "maybe I should take notes next time, just to be absolutely sure."

"You two are disgusting," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose at them before disappearing back into her room.

"She's absolutely right, you know. We're terrible," George said, not sounding the slightest bit repentant.

"Depraved, even," Harry agreed.

"Beyond any possible hope of redemption," George concluded mock-sadly, before flashing Harry a wicked grin and firmly pinning him to the back of the sofa. His face only centimeters from Harry's, he gave a little half shrug and said, "Guess we'll just have to force ourselves to live in sin, then."

Harry was pretty sure he'd had a devastatingly witty reply in mind, but he was more than happy to settle for something closer to "Mmnph," as George kissed him decisively, fisting a large hand in Harry's perpetually unkempt hair. He thought he heard something behind them, but was more than willing to ignore it, given the circumstances. However, it wasn't nearly so keen to ignore them.

"'Arry!"

"Uncle George!"

George jumped away from Harry, nearly toppling over the back of the sofa in his efforts to look as innocent as possible as they were set upon by a pair of tiny terrors.

Bill stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised. "Sorry," he said, looking completely unfazed. "Didn't mean to interrupt."


End file.
